


Symbiosis

by Sigma



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Alex Rider, Light Dom/sub, Mating Bond, SCORPIA Member Alex Rider, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigma/pseuds/Sigma
Summary: Inspired by Arabis' remarkableFree Fall.  In a world where Sentinels and Guides are known, and Guide numbers have been decimated by plague, unbonded Guides are a rare and precious commodity, whose lives are regulated by the Government.  In this world Alex Rider has a secret she's desperate to protect.  Unfortunately for her Yassen Gregorovich has been paying very close attention.....In other words, the genderbent Sentinel/Alex Rider crossover that no one ever asked for.....
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 42
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arabis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Free Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282107) by [arabis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabis/pseuds/arabis). 



> _So once again random inspiration strikes, and has led to this! Aiming to make this a multi chapter if there is enough interest, please let me know! As always, please point out any issues with spelling/grammar etc! Thanks!_

He looked up in anticipation, eyes alight, at the sound of footsteps in the corridor, seasoned with the occasional clink of metal from handcuffs as the two guards escorted his guest, her hands handcuffed behind her, into the room. Blue eyes met a pair of hazel flecked brown, both so very similar to when he had last seen her, almost four years ago to the day now, and so very different. The eyes of a 14 year old Alex Rider had telegraphed almost all of her emotions, but the gaze that met his own now was opaque, ice crystals almost visible, all of her fire and emotion locked away behind cool calculation. 

“Alexandra Rider.” It took more effort than he would have liked to admit to keep the pleasure at finally having her in his presence out of his voice, but he managed it. 

She scanned him briefly from head to toe, rose bud lips slightly parted before she responded. “Yassen Gregorovich,” she drawled. “I see rumours of your death have been exaggerated.” 

He inclined his head. “As you see.” He waved a hand towards a large armchair positioned across from his. “Please. Sit.”

She hesitated, and the guards behind her shifted as though they were going to push her in that direction before they froze when he narrowed his eyes at them. 

“Why?” 

“Because I have a matter I would like to discuss with you and it may take some time. And I thought you would prefer to be somewhat comfortable while we talk.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, you could uncuff me, and then I would definitely be more comfortable.”

He bit back a smile. How very Rider. Always willing to push the boundaries. “Unfortunately that is not possible. I have too much respect for your abilities to make that mistake. However, you have my word that I have no intention of harming you in any way. In fact, I have a proposal to put to you. If you choose to reject it, you also have my word that you will be returned to the location from which my men retrieved you with no injuries, although they have to drug you so you cannot trace this location. But apart from that, no injury will be done to your person. In exchange, I would just like a small period of your time, and your willingness to listen. Can you agree to that?”

She cocked her head and stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity and then nodded sharply before she made her way to the chair he indicated and sat, sinking slightly into the soft cushions.

“Good.” He nodded to his security. “Leave us. I will let you know when to return. Otherwise, Ms Rider and I are not to be disturbed. Understood?”

He received nods in return, and then with quiet mutters of _Yes Sir_ , both left the room, carefully closing the door behind them, the lock clicking into place with a finality that he was sure Alexandra had noticed. 

For a moment they just stared at each, taking in the changes that time had wrought on them both. Yassen's were less dramatic to her eyes although considering the last time she had seen him he had been bleeding out in the back of Air Force One, he of course looked a hell of a lot better. Healthy, fit, blond hair cut close to his skull, body still lean and functional from what she could see. There were perhaps a few more faint scars on his arms exposed by his t-shirt, maybe a line or two around his eyes, but otherwise he seemed ageless, just as he had four years ago. While she hadn't followed up on his suggestion to seek out Scorpia post his supposed death, she had undertaken her research, and she knew that he was approximately 19 years older than her. So he must be around 37 now, but he looked anything from mid twenties up, which must be useful for undercover purposes. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, as the changes in her over the last 4 years were a lot more dramatic. Puberty was a bitch.

He doubted she had realised how long he had been anticipating this meeting. He had kept an eye on her from a distance ever since that debacle with Damien Cray, but it was only when his suspicions had been raised after she turned 16 that he had started to put in place long dormant plans that he had never thought would have a chance of coming to fruition. But from then it had been a waiting game. He had some semblance of a conscience left, if only for John Rider's wilful, golden child and the proposal he wanted to make was not one he could offer to any one who wasn't an adult. It was a lifetime commitment, and he wasn't MI6, to bind a child unwilling. So he had to wait, wait and watch and try to hope that Alex's native wit and ingenuity could keep her alive long enough to reach 18. And she had , just a few weeks ago, although he doubted she had really noticed at the time as she had been deep into a mission for the CIA, loaned out as seemed to happen to her quite frequently, by MI6.

He had instructed his men to pick her up with as minimal injury as possible as soon as she had resurfaced after finishing her assignment. Thankfully, Joe Byrne had debriefed her close to the site of her mission in California, and then had left the young spy to make her own way home to the mother ship. Even more usefully, he had managed to tap into the communications between Rider and Jones at the MI6 offshoot she had been shanghaied into at the tender age of 14, where the young woman had unilaterally announced during the deliberately obtuse call (as it wasn't as secure a line as either of the participants would like) that she was taking a few weeks off on holiday before she returned to the “embrace” of headquarters. The other voice on the call, clearly Jones, had been unimpressed, but Rider had refused to be moved, and had noted that she hadn't had a gap between “tasks” in 6 months, so she was well over due. There had been some grumbling, but then consent, and Rider was officially on leave for the next three weeks. 

It gave him a useful window to work with, and it meant that if she refused to consider his offer he could re-insert her into her life without Six being any the wiser. So he gave the order, and his men, being cautious, and not stupid, as otherwise he wouldn't have hired them, took the conservative approach and darted Rider with a tranquilliser gun from a distance (utilising a tranq that would have been overkill for a man a metre taller than Rider and 20 kilograms heavier), when she was out hiking in the Palisades, and then swooped in to pick her up as soon as she collapsed. They didn't know who she was, as he hadn't given them that information, but they knew enough to treat her both carefully and with extreme caution and sensibly had kept her drugged throughout the entire trip to the small Pacific island where he was currently located. 

He had a female nurse, one whom he had brought on staff specifically, do a cursory check up on his “guest” when she arrived, nothing intrusive, but just weight, blood pressure, heartbeat, and a blood test to ensure that she wasn't suffering from any side effects of the drugs she had been under. But apart from that he had made sure that she woke up as comfortably as possible, in a secure room of course, but not restrained, on a comfortable bed, with a sealed bottle of water, and a selection of fruit for refreshment if she should choose to eat it. There was CCTV on the room of course, he wasn't an idiot, even if he wanted to treat her well. So he saw her wake up in increments, still dressed in the clothes from her hike, the only thing removed being her boots and her watch. He noted the almost imperceptible change from genuine unconsciousness to a studied stillness as she continued to fake being under while scoping out the room as best she could with her eyes closed. Then when she had confirmed there was no one else in the room, the flicker of eyelids opening, the roaming glances around the room before she sat up on the bed, giving the bottle of water and the fruit a cursory dismissive glance (which made him smile a little, caution in a Rider, it was almost unheard of) before she stood to prowl around the room.

He watched the quick, professional assessment, the way she tried the window, tapping against the glass (bulletproof and impossible to break without specialised tools) with a grimace, examined the the hinges on the door to see if they could be knocked out, pulled open the floor grate of the air conditioning vent to see if it was large enough to be useful. There was a small windowless en-suite attached to the room, very plain, just a secured sink, toilet and a tiled shower cubicle, with fixed dispensers for shampoo, conditioner, body wash etc., and plain white towels carefully large enough to be useful, but not long enough to be adapted into rope or weapons, everything basic but functional. She disappeared for a few moments into it, probably to both refresh herself and examine it for the possibilities of either weapons or escape. There was no camera in the en-suite, a concession he was making in the interest of good relations, but at the same time, he had considerable respect for Rider's storied ability to escape even the most restrictive situations so when he had outfitted the room with her in mind he had designed it as a place that he himself would have difficulty escaping. But despite that, he doubted that it would hold her for any extended period. But it didn't have to. It just had to work for a short period, because after that she would either stay willingly, or he would arrange for her to be returned to her lodgings on the mainland. 

But the escape proof nature of the room didn't stop her trying and he watched with amused respect as she systematically went over every possible weak point to see how it could be used, from the bottom of the bed (steel, bolted to the floor, with no springs that could usefully be removed), to the towels, the bottled water, the mattress, flat pillow and single sheet before sitting back down on the bed again, against the wall, knees drawn up so she could rest her pointed chin on them and fixed her eyes on the door, conserving her energy for whatever came next.

Although the black and white nature of the CCTV (better than colour for tracking movement) didn't allow him to get a full picture of her it did show him that she had changed considerably since he had last seen her in person although he had been sent regular surveillance photos so the changes were not unexpected. And anyway the period between 14 and 18, from almost child to cusping adult was one of those times when significant physical change was not just common, but rather expected.

She had come into her height, taller than typical for a woman, 5”8 he would say, or 5”9, and she was a picture of sleekly toned flesh, all long legs and deceptively slender muscled arms. At 14, suffering from cumulative months of stress, and still grieving for her uncle she had been almost androgynous, wiry and whippet thin, the short boy's hair cut only adding to the illusion, but now there was no way anyone would think she was a boy, with the curves of hip and thigh, waist and breast outlined through her clothes, and the long hair, even with it being sensibly braided back off her face. Even her face had changed, sharpened, cheekbones emerging from childish camouflage, eyes that had been too big for her features now in proportion. He had seen pictures of her as a child with Ian Rider when he had been pulling together his research and she had never been pretty, more interesting, a vital smiling presence. But now she had grown into herself it was like a caterpillar sloughing off its cocoon, revealing the butterfly underneath. She was beautiful, almost classically so, and he wondered at the problems that must have caused her in the last few years of her tenure with MI6 and in the field. 

He gave her an hour to rest and then signalled for his men to collect her, continuing to watch while they opened the door, spoke briefly to her and then casually pointed out that they would simply tranquillise her again if she refused to co-operate. She narrowed her eyes at them, but they were patient, as instructed, and after a few minutes both the inevitability of the situation, and her own innate curiosity won out as he knew it would.

And now they were face to face and he could see in detail all the things that even the best digital surveillance could not capture. Her hair was blonder than he remembered, her brown eyes shot with sparks of green and her young face was all sharp cheekbones and flashing eyes, her mouth a tempting rose. She was herself, indisputably but for anyone who had known John Rider there was still a recognisable stamp of her father on her, something about the eyes and the lines of the mouth, a ghost haunting his child's features. But more than anything what radiated out from her even in her vulnerable position was defiance, danger and the simmering potential for violence. She was a weapon honed so sharp it was as if anyone who touched her might bleed from the proximity alone. 

To a man less sure of himself it might have been intimidating, but to Yassen it was delicious, exactly what he had searching for over all these endless years. He wasn't interested in submission, that he could have bought a hundred times before, 

For a moment they just looked at each other, taking each other's measure, and then he broke the silence. “Would you like a drink? Some water perhaps?”

She hesitated as though she was about to refuse and then nodded choppily and he slid to his feet in a fluid motion, picking up the sealed bottle of water from the table beside his seat. He padded over to her, opened the cap and then deliberately took a swallow from the bottle himself before he slipped a straw into the open top and held the bottle where she could easily drink from it. Her eyes flickered up to his and then back to the bottle in his hand before she leaned in a little and drank thirstily. When she leaned back a good third of the bottle was gone.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, “I'll put it here.” He put the bottle down on the side table beside her chair. “Let me know if you would like another drink.”

He sat back down, and again there was a pause before he leaned forward in his seat.  
“Firstly, I would like to give you my word that there are no listening devices in this room, or video. I have it checked twice daily while I am in residence. As such, nothing I say to you, or you to me in this space will go beyond the two of us. And second,” his eyes tracked over her and he noticed that she was already tensing in her seat, bracing herself for what he was going to say next, dreading it and somehow anticipating it all at once. “I meant what I said. If you are not interested in my proposal I will return you untouched and unharmed to where my men picked you up from. I will not keep you here, I promise.” 

He took a breath and exhaled and then laid his cards on the table. “Alex,” he stated calmly but remorselessly, “I know that you're a Guide.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

None of this secrecy would have been necessary if it hadn't been for the Nazis. Admittedly you could say that about a lot of things, but most societies globally agreed that along with the Shoah and its associated atrocities the worst thing the Nazis did (whether intentionally or not was still debated) was to create the Guide Plague. 

Originally created by Nazi scientists to be a short acting mild illness that could be spread amongst the Reich's enemies to reduce the effectiveness of Sentinel/Guide pairings fighting for the Allies, it rapidly mutated to become a lethal flu like illness that killed one in every 10 Sentinels, but horribly had an almost 100% fatality rate on Guides. The irony was that the very release of the plague led to a premature end to the war in Europe, as the Reich's own Sentinels turned against them when the Plague started killing their Guides. A Sentinel seldom survived their Guide, and few wished to, but one thing that could keep them alive was berserker rage and the wish for revenge. And it was the combined strength of berserker sentinels with suicidal lack of restraint from across both the Allies and the Axis powers that finally destroyed the Reich. Hitler and his cohorts had always underestimated the instincts to protect the Tribe, and more importantly their Guides, that every Sentinel held, no matter how cowed or obedient to a particular ideology they might seem. 

But by that time the damage was done. The Plague spread out, unstoppable, untreatable, decimating the ranks of Sentinels, but destroying the ranks of Guides. Worldwide, Sentinels and Guides made up substantial percentages of global police forces, military, civil servants, teachers, medical staff, drawn as they were to careers that supported their Tribes, and that tendency both worked for and against them. The sight of so many of the most useful members of their societies dying from either illness or from psionic shock as their bonds with their Guides were broken by the Guides' deaths spurred on the first ever attempt at a global solution to an illness. A successful vaccine was finally created in 1949 but by that time the damage had been done.

Before the Plague the ratio of Sentinels to Guides was perhaps 12:10. Not even, but not too far off it, and when nature took into account the natural adrenaline seeking tendencies of young unbonded Sentinels the final numbers that survived to bond was usually equal. While historically there was a tendency for Guides to be treated as fragile, as something to be protected, after exploits in two World Wars there was a growing understanding that Guides were considerably tougher than had previously been allowed and there was increasing pressure to allow them full legal and financial autonomy, rather than leaving them to be treated as a dependent of their Sentinels. But the Plague didn't just hit living Guides, although that was bad enough. Instead it seemed to permanently affect the fertility of female Guides and Sentinels. Fewer and fewer children who would grow up to be Guides were born, and slowly the ratios shifted until there were 10 Sentinels to a Guide in some countries and 15:1 in others. 

Across the planet governments took note, and spurred on by the intention of protecting the mental health of Sentinels, who were frequently in positions of responsibility in society, and also the future generations of both Sentinels and Guides decided almost unilaterally to put draconian laws in place to “protect” Guides. Children born of family lines that usually ran to Sentinel and Guides were kept under strict scrutiny, with regular testing to establish which aspect, if any, they were likely to present. And once confirmation of guidehood was established, whether latent or presenting, the child was often removed from their family and trained by the state, with the most “valuable” Sentinels granted Guides, while others languished. Choice for the Guide was never even considered. And the situation was even worse for female Guides who were expected to bear as many children as was feasible in order to improve the Guide/Sentinel ratio. Female Sentinels were expected to breed as well, but the pressure was different as it was assumed that Guides were more often borne from female Guide lines. It was essentially indoctrinated servitude, or arguably state operated sexual slavery and although it had originally been put in place as a “temporary” measure, like so many things that were advantageous to the status quo, it quickly hardened into a permanent situation.

While the Guide Rebellions and Guide Rights campaigns of the 1970's and 80's when normals and Guides joined together to protest had led to significant reforms internationally, there was still a heavy weight of expectation on the necks of all Guides to bond, and if they were female, the expression, “Bare foot and pregnant” was still muttered by many Sentinels as the ideal position for a female Guide. In the US there was still a legal requirement for all Guides to report for training at 15 and eventual assignment at 18. In the UK it wasn't quite that bad, but Guides were expected to register at age 16, and attend compulsory meetn'greets from 18 on. If they hadn't picked a Sentinel by age 21 they would be assigned to one. And for someone in Alex's position, with no family to protect her, already almost a ward of the state, it would be only too easy for her to disappear, either forcibly bonded to one of MI6's favoured Sentinels or sold on to the thriving black market for unbonded Guides that operated globally. It would be another form of indentured servitude than the one she was already under, but a 100 times worse. And for life as only death could sever the Bond. 

So he wasn't at all surprised at the sudden deathly pallor that swept over the young woman's face, or the instant, vehement denial. “No, no I'm _not!_ I'm a norm. Like you!”

Yassen coughed out a quiet laugh. “But you see Alex, I'm not a norm, just as you are not a norm.” He looked at her, seeing the dawning realisation on her face. “I'm a Sentinel, Alexandra.”

Panic spread across her face and she struggled in her seat, automatically pulling at her handcuffs. He inwardly winced at the thought of what the metal must be doing to the thin skin of her wrists. He had always been reluctant to see her hurt, and very little of it had been because she was John Rider's child. It was only once his suspicions had been awakened that he realised what that natural protectiveness was, a Sentinel's reluctant to see a Guide injured.

Guides were precious, unbonded ones even more so, and female unbonded Guides the most, so it was no surprise to him once he realised what she was that he had been unable to kill Alex Rider. The closer he had her watched the more he realised that even though no one else seemed to have realised she was a Guide, she was clearly using some part of her Guide empathy on her various marks and missions, because there were far too many miraculous escapes, far too many important men who seemed to want to tell her information without her even trying to extract it. It was fascinating, clearly a form of the projective empathy that he had heard rumours that a very few naturally powerful Guides possessed, a multiplying of a Guide's natural abilities far beyond the norm, that allowed her to confuse and manipulate and evade the perceptions of those around her. It was remarkable that no one had picked up on the fact that she had the gift yet, but he supposed if she only exercised it in direst need in the field, and the ones she used it on usually ended up dead, there would be no one to report on her abilities back to MI6. And it was a vanishingly rare thing anyway, hardly known about apart from in high level government and paramilitary circles who usually fervently scooped up any Guides who demonstrated the merest hint of the skill. He only knew about it because of his own training as an Alpha Sentinel, and because he had been responsible for the training of a large percentage of Scorpia's unbonded Sentinels for the last decade which had required him to seek out every piece of esoteric knowledge on both Sentinels and Guides and their bonds that he could find. 

He never thought he would meet a projective empath in person though, not until he realised what young Alex must be. And now he had his confirmation that his suppositions had been correct. He could already feel the strength of that strong young mind starting to push against his, her panic overcoming her control over her gift, automatically reaching out to protect herself from a perceived threat. But there was a reason he was the Head trainer for Scorpia's Sentinels. His mental control was formidable, and although Alex had raw strength and adrenaline, he had both strength and experience and her attempts to affect him slipped off the surface of his psyche like water off oiled leather.

To distract himself from that strange push against his consciousness he focused his senses in on her. It really was a remarkable dissemblance. Even with all of his senses dialed up he couldn't tell she was a Guide. But he knew that she was, all of the circumstantial evidence was too significant not to add up to that one inescapable fact, plus she had just unintentionally confirmed it by using her projective empathy against him herself.

She was still struggling in her seat, her breath starting to come too fast as adrenaline flooded her system. “You can't be a Sentinel! You don't feel like....” she cut herself off as comprehension dawned, her eyes widened and she stilled in her seat, realisation of both how that it was he didn't feel like a Sentinel and what she had just admitted leaving her frozen in place. He raised a sardonic eyebrow at her.

“What you were saying Alex, is that I do not feel like a Sentinel. But then, you do not resonate to my senses like a Guide. But I know that you are. I can _feel_ what you just tried to do to me with your Gift, so there is no point in denying it. But as to why I do not feel like a Sentinel, I think we have the same answer to both of our questions.”

 _Suppressants_. The realisation hung in the air between them. The drugs were the only effective way for a Sentinel or a Guide to pass as a normal and highly illegal in most jurisdictions. You could find them on the Dark Web if you looked hard enough, or through some of the more radical Guide rights activist organisations, the ones that ran the modern Guide focused version of the old Underground Railway in the US, smuggling Guides out of the USA into Canada and eventually New Zealand which were two of the more liberal jurisdictions where Guide rights were concerned, and who offered asylum for Guides from other countries.

“I have to admit that whatever you are on is extremely effective,” he noted admiringly. “Even with all of my senses dialled up, and I am an Alpha Sentinel, you do not read to my senses as a Guide at all. If I hadn't been tracking you and the way you use your empathy for some time, I might now be doubting myself.”

She didn't say anything, just watched him warily, brown eyes huge in her pale face, but at least she had stopped pulling futilely at her cuffs. 

“How long have you been on them?”

For a moment it seemed like she wouldn't answer, but then she seemed to come to the realisation that there was no point in protesting something he already knew to be true. “Since I came online when I was 16,” she admitted, suddenly sagging in place on the seat, exhausted for the moment from her adrenaline fuelled struggle with her unforgiving bonds. 

“I see. And you are 18 now?” He inquired and nodded as she inclined her chin in confirmation. “So two years. No break?”

She shook her head. “I can't. It will take at least 8 weeks for the drugs to work their way out of my system before I can start a new course if I want to take a break and I've never been able to risk the level of exposure involved in being suppressant free.”

He gave her an unexpectedly sympathetic look. “You do know, Alexandra, that suppressants are not meant to be taken for longer than three years maximum without a break?”

She sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment in frustration before she glared at him. “Of course I know! But how could I get the time I needed to detox properly safely before I could start a new course? Not when I'm always under watch at Six, or on operations. Going cold turkey in either location wasn't exactly possible!”

“No,” he allowed. “I can see how that would have been a problem. But if you do not take a break around the three year mark the effectiveness of the suppressants will rapidly reduce due to the build up in your system,” he noted clinically.

She sagged even further in her seat. “I know,” she almost whispered. “But what was I meant to do?”

He inclined his head at her understandingly. She was in a genuinely difficult position. Admittedly, he intended to use that very difficulty to his advantage, but it wasn't as if he couldn't appreciate the awkwardness of the situation.

“How did you escape the Reviewers?”

She grimaced at the mention of the teams of testers who worked their way from school to school and tested every child in the UK for the tell tale blood markers that indicated an emerging Sentinel or Guide. “For once everything going wrong worked out well for me. I didn't emerge until I was 16.”

“Quite late,” he noted. She shrugged. It was true. The usual period was between 13 and 15. 16 was outside the norm. 

“I think the stress of everything that happened to me after Ian died delayed everything. And then, I lucked out. I missed a lot of the blood test days because I was on Operations away from school from age 14 on. And Jack had been afraid that something like this would happen, since I know that Dad and Uncle Ian were both Sentinels, my Dad's Mum was a Guide and I think Mum might have been something too, so before they deported her she set me up with some friends of hers in the Guide activist underground and drilled me really hard on what the symptoms of emergence were that I had to watch out for. At the first hint I was emerging I contacted them and they set me up on the suppressant regime before I had really emerged.”

He nodded. “As you say, lucky. Jack was your housekeeper?”

She looked a little surprised at this conversational non sequitur but didn't see the harm in confirming it so she nodded. 

“An enterprising young woman then. And one who cared deeply for your well being.”

Alex shrugged, a fleeting expression of sadness crossing her face. “Yes, she did. She still does I think, even thought I haven't seen her now since I was 15.”

“You miss her,” he observed.

“Well, she basically raised me since I was 7, so yes,” she retorted dryly. “But you didn't bring me here to talk about my uncle's housekeeper.”

He inclined his head in acceptance. “That is true.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her steadily. “As I said, I have a proposal for you that I believe may be mutually beneficially. But the fact that I have revealed to you that I am a Sentinel and that I know that you are a Guide does not change what I said before. If you choose to reject my proposal I will arrange for you to be returned to your point of departure, unharmed, and unbonded. There will be no forced bonding between us, Alex Rider.”

She stared at him, trying to gauge his sincerity again. “Do you promise?” She sounded very young in that moment, very like a child, and he winced internally at the combination of hope and hopeless cynicism in her voice. It was the tone of someone who had long ceased to trust in people's words, but still felt that she had to make the attempt anyway, optimism that had been crushed by experience.

“You have my word,” he reiterated firmly. “I have never yet lied to you, Alexandra, and I do not intend to start now.” 

She stared at him for a moment longer and then seemed to capitulate. “Okay. So what's this proposal?”

He leaned forward in his chair, suddenly intent. “I am prepared to offer you the chance to completely detox from your suppressants in a safe environment, namely this one, for as long as it takes for the chemicals to completely leave your system. This will thereby extend your suppressant cover for another three years if you choose to go back on the regime before you return to the UK. This location is an island, it is secure, all of the personnel and security are normals, none of whom know, or will know, that you are a Guide. I will be leaving momentarily, and will not return for a minimum of three months. I am also prepared to arrange for a bonded and reliable husband and wife Sentinel and Guide team of my acquaintance to join you here for as long as your detox period lasts. Andrew and Amelia are both familiar with our line of work, he is a highly qualified and experienced security contractor, she is a Combat Medic with decades of experience. They will keep you company, but will also provide any training you are interested in and answer any questions that you may wish to ask, either with regard to intelligence operations and security generally, or in relation to your Guide abilities and the nature and capabilities of both bonded and unbonded Sentinels and Guides. The pair of them have been Master trainers in this area at Scorpia's main training camp, Malagosto for over 7 years and have my trust in this area.”

She listened silently, her eyes widening as he laid out his plan. It sounded far too good to be true, which probably meant it was.

“What's the catch?”

He could hear the scepticism in her tone. She was right to be wary, as the “catch” was significant. He took a breath and laid it all out. 

“In exchange, once you have detoxed, I would ask you to be willing to consider taking me as your Bonded Sentinel.”

And there it was. It was one hell of a catch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The plot thickens.... Please let me know if you see any major issues with spelling etc - with no beta I rely on my eagle eyed readers! Enjoy, and please review._

There was a beat of astonishment as she just stared at him, eyes wide before she spoke.

“But...what? I would have assumed that as a Sentinel you would be..”

“Already bonded?” He interjected with a raised eyebrow. “Flattering as that assumption may be, no I am not.”

She frowned. It didn't make sense. He was rich and clearly well connected with the global criminal underworld and the rumours of Guide trafficking networks were not just rumours. If Yassen Gregorovich had wanted a Bonded Guide he could have easily had one by now. He seemed to read exactly what she was thinking from the expression on her face and a corner of his lips quirked up in a (strangely charming) lop sided smile. 

“If you are thinking that if I was desperate for a Guide before now I could have had one through various nefarious means...” he spread his hands, palm down in a very Russian gesture of acknowledgement. “Yes, that is true. There are black market rings I know of that traffic in unbonded Guides. Especially from the 'Stans and the old Eastern Bloc. I have even visited some of the sites where they keep the unbonded Guides before they sell them off to Sentinels with the right connections, and the right amount of money.” He shrugged. “Some of them were female, and some of them were very beautiful as well. And any of them were available for the right price.” His smile deepened just a little bit. “And I could have had any of them for considerably less effort than I have spent in arranging this meeting between us.”

Her frown deepened. “Then why didn't you?”

His eyes were amused now. “Because none of them were you, Alexandra.”

She couldn't help it, she flushed at the implied compliment, and even more at the slight playfulness in his voice. He was teasing her, she realised. Winding her up, a little, just because he could. So she felt justified in the flash of temper that underlaid her quick response.

“Riiiight. Pull the other one, Gregorovich. I need more of an explanation than _that_.”

To her total shock he actually chuckled, the lines around his eyes crinkling in momentary amusement. “Well, it is not untrue. But perhaps a few more details might provide you with more context.”

She raised a speaking eyebrow at him. Clearly they would.

He bit back a smile. “You know what I do for a profession.”

“You're an assassin,” she stated bluntly.

His mouth twitched in amusement at her lack of tact. “Amongst other things,” he allowed. “More broadly, I am a security specialist. I solve...problems. Sometimes the solving of those problems requires a review of security for a client, or the extraction of information, or yes, the removal of an individual, or individuals.”

She gave him a jaundiced look at how clinically he was laying everything out, which he was amused by, going by the flash of humour in his eyes. “It is not a profession that rewards stupidity, or carelessness. Or...weakness.”

She found herself unexpectedly amused in her turn, which was perhaps inappropriate in her current situation, but her sense of humour had always been a little twisted. “Is this when you are going to tell me that there are old assassins, and bad assassins, but no old, bad assassins?”

The humour in his eyes deepened at her whimsical comment. “Exactly. There is a considerable truth in the cliche, Alexandra. The best security specialists work alone, or in close knit teams with others who bring their own skill sets to the matter. There is no dead wood in such a team, no weak link.” He paused and examined her face.

“But I am also a Sentinel. And although I can function well enough alone, I will be at my best, both physically and otherwise if I am matched with a compatible Guide. But I cannot afford for my Guide to be that dead wood, or weak link in my team. Once bonded, my primary focus will be naturally on the well being of my Guide. If I have to spend my time splitting my focus to protect my Guide my effectiveness will be severely impacted. Which is something I cannot afford.”

She nodded, that seemed logical enough to her. A mere second's hesitation or distraction in the heat of the moment in the situations both of them were frequently in could be fatal. She'd seen the proof of that herself over the years she'd been in the field.

“Now this may seem slightly off topic, but Alex,when you think about Guides, the stereotypes, what do you see?”

She looked a little taken aback at his question, and then thoughtful. “I suppose all the cliches. On TV, in films, Guides are usually seen as pretty domestic. Submissive. Definitely secondary to their Sentinels. Supportive rather than proactive. Usually nurses rather than doctors, primary school teachers, carers... “ she shrugged. 

“And in the street?”

“Well everyone doesn't wear a sign,” she noted dryly. “But in the more traditional couples, the ones who wear Sentinel/Guide insignia you often see the Guide walking a step behind their Sentinel. Or people addressing the Sentinel when they have a question for the Guide. And when I've been in hospital,” she ignored his brief frown at the idea of her being injured. “I've seen Doctors and medical staff ask a Sentinel's permission to touch their Guide, when the Guide is the one ill or injured.”

“And what did you think about that?” he asked neutrally.

She narrowed her eyes at him, a glint of defiance showing. “I thought it was bollocks,” she admitted bluntly. “Why should a Sentinel have the right to give permission for their Guide to be treated? Doesn't the Guide have bodily autonomy? And walking behind someone, to show, what? Respect, deference?” She snorted. “I don't think so. Just because you are a Sentinel doesn't mean you are entitled to my respect. And just because someone may be a Guide, doesn't have to mean that they are _weak_.”

He was watching her very closely now. “But so many Guides are.”

She shook her head in furious denial. “It's perception creating reality. Like learned helplessness. If enough people tell you that you can't something, you stop believing you can. There's nothing wrong with Guides. It's society that's fucked up.”

His small smile this time was infinitely satisfied. “Exactly. But it's a very prevalent attitude about Guides, even internationally. And it's self reinforcing. Guides are told they are one thing, media, society and whatever governmental body that has oversight of them all reinforce that stereotype. So it is not unexpected that the vast majority of Guides end up believing it. And the few who don't, who fight the mould they are expected to fit are often disciplined into submission at an early age.”

She swallowed. She couldn't dispute what he had said. Even at Six, the one bonded Guide she knew of was a quiet, beaten down man who worked in administration, while his Sentinel, who was a bullying arsehole, was the head of the department. The Guide seldom seemed particularly happy, and on more than one occasion she seen him moving stiffly with bruises on his face. When she had queried it with Crawley or Fox she had been informed that a Sentinel had a right to discipline their Guide, up to the edge of permanent injury, and that it was no one's right to interfere. The casual statement had left her sick to her stomach and more determined than ever that no one would ever know she was a Guide. 

He looked at her searchingly and seemed to take her silence as a sign to go on. 

“And the Guides that are trafficked, well,” he cocked a head. “They are the ones who have usually had the few flames of resistance that remained thoroughly removed. They are ornamental, submissive, perfectly capable of providing domestic support to a Sentinel, trained or trainable in dealing with the traditional aspects of a Sentinel/Guide Bond, yes. But not capable of surviving or thriving in the world we operate in, you and I.”

It was a blatant call to kinship, but she couldn't shrug it off too easily, because it was true. They did operate in very similar worlds, just usually on opposite sides. But she knew that there were other Sentinel/Guide pairs that operated in not dissimilar circumstances, so why couldn't he seek a Guide from those circles? 

“But what about the Guides that are paired with military or paramilitary Sentinels? They must come from somewhere, and I would have thought they would have been well suited if you need a Guide who can keep up with you in the field.”

He smiled just a little, wryly. “Outside government or national military level organisation, Guides trained to accompany military Sentinels in the field are vanishingly rare. Within those governmental or national level organisations, male candidates from Guide line families are taken from their families at an early age and brought up in service to the State before being bonded to suitable military Sentinels once they are considered old enough. They are usually trained in combat support, to be medics and such like, but they do have the basic military skill set required to support their Sentinels effectively.”

“And you couldn't get access to the training environment to persuade one of those candidates to bond with you?” 

He shrugged and shook his head. “I considered it a number of years ago, but there are a number of problems with that scenario. Firstly, the sites they are kept at are extremely secure. Secondary, the candidates stationed there are children who haven't come on line yet. As soon as they do, they are bonded so there are seldom online but unbonded Guides stationed at any such site. And thirdly, the indoctrination of Guides to serve the perceived national interest at such centres is very strong. Even if I was to manage to acquire such an unbonded Guide, and bond with them I would have the issue of being tied on a deep level with a partner who has been trained to do nothing but follow my orders, but who will also hate everything we do together on a gut level.” He grimaced almost imperceptibly. “That is not a recipe for a successful partnership.”

She tilted her head together as she considered his point. “True,” she allowed after a moment. “But there must be some other options that you have explored.” 

She had no idea why she was having such a civilised interaction with him, why he was allowing her to probe his motivations so extensively but it was a definite improvement on her usual experiences of being handcuffed in the presence of men with dubious morality. For instance, the threats of physical abuse were wholly lacking. Just for that it was worth being polite and listening to what he was saying, although she still didn't trust in his word that he would release her after she had heard him out.

He nodded, acknowledging the point.

“There are also a few families, old Sentinel/Guide families who have historically been involved with the Underworld that raise and shape their children to the wishes of Sentinels who are willing to pay a truly remarkable amount of money to sponsor them with the goal of eventual bonding. However, the amount of money that is involved is extremely high, and the time periods I would be dealing with are in decades, as they normally insist on sponsorship from when the child is 7. And 10 years or so ago that amount of capital outlay would have severely reduced my liquidity, down to non acceptable levels. Plus, despite what you may think from the concept of a family auctioning off their children, they are actually very protective of their offspring, and my suit would be likely to be disqualified on the basis of their child being put into too much danger.”

That was a wholly new concept to her and she huffed her surprise. “Really?”

He looked amused again. “Indeed. There are many Sentinel lines high up in the Mafia, and the major drug cartels and the Russian Vory. They all have to obtain Guides from somewhere, so it is not uncommon for parents high up in those organisations to arrange bonding contracts for their heirs very early on in childhood. The Guides are brought up to the reality of the organisations that they will join, and bond with the relevant heir when they are old enough and on-line. The families that provide Guide children also act as facilitators between the various factions. No one will touch the children, or the providing House as otherwise the aggressors' future suits for members of their organisations will not be considered.”

“So those providers act as go betweens?”

“Yes. And also as Guarantors for the safety and well being of their children. Even if there is all out war between factions no one will hurt a Guide born to one of those Houses.”

“Huh.” It was fascinating. An entire ecosystem of Guides and Sentinels that she had never heard about or considered. And all operating outside of the law or national interests. But she was getting distracted.

“So you've explained why other options have been difficult. But why would you be so interested in _me_?”

There was that flash of amusement in his eyes again. “Are you fishing for compliments, Alexandra?”

“No!" She denied vehemently. "I just don't see why you would be willing to go to this much effort. And also how you knew that I'm a Guide in the first place.”

It was the second point she was actually most interested in. If she could pin point how she had left herself exposed she could fix the weak point before anyone else, such as Six, picked up on it. He still looked amused, but he leaned forward in his chair and gave her question proper attention.

“Well, there are both general and specific considerations. Firstly, on a general level, you are a healthy, active Guide from a family whose lineage in paramilitary Sentinel and Guide circles is impressive. Your Father was an Alpha Sentinel, your Uncle was a Sentinel, your paternal grandparents were a bonded Sentinel and Guide couple and your Mother was a latent Guide.”

She looked at him in surprise, nonplussed. The rest she knew, but the bit about her Mum was news to her. 

“She was?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was the only reason your Father and Mother could be apart for any period of time. Your Father read as unbonded to Sentinel senses, but your Mother tested as latent at age 15. So they were not technically Bonded, but it was a very close relationship. Are you aware of your Father's history with Scorpia?”

She nodded curtly. “Yes. After our last meeting on Airforce One I didn't follow your suggestion to go to Venice, but I did do some digging, and I managed to piece it all together.”

“To most of Scorpia's employees your Father was killed by M16. So his reputation within the organisation below Board level is actually quite positive. Hunter was respected, and well liked, both as a Sentinel, and as an instructor.”

Alex wasn't too sure how to think about the fact that her Father had been convincing enough as a trainer of assassins that he was still remembered fondly by the rank and file of Scorpia two decades later, but she put that thought aside for later consideration. 

“Again, on a more general level, you have proven yourself over your handful of years in the field to be intelligent, adaptable and creative.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “For someone of your young years, you have been building quite the reputation.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you know that?”

His lips quirked. “I do my research.”

He reached out to the side table beside his chair and picked up a thick manilla folder, that he opened propped on his lap, swivelled so she could see the contents. A photo of herself stared back at her from the first page, when she was 14 by the look of it, still with her boy's haircut and shell shocked expression. She couldn't see anything beyond that but she somehow doubted that he was trying to bluff her by pretending to hold information on her. What would be the point? He hadn't had to tell her that he had information on her. Instead it seemed like he really had done his research. 

She regarded the folder warily, as if it was a live snake curled in his lap. Just exactly how much did he know, how long had he been interested in her? But she was torn from her contemplation as he resumed his reiteration of her “desirable” characteristics.

“You thrive under pressure, you are determined, innovative and you have the relevant skills to operate successfully in our field.”

She looked at him, not even trying to make an attempt to disguise the reckless glint in her eyes and smiled a smile that had far more of a razor's edge in it than she normally allowed to show in polite company. 

“Of course, you do realise the flipside of all these nice things you are saying about me is that I am, as I have been frequently told, also the world's most stubborn, frequently reckless, irritating pain in the arse, with a total inability to walk away from a situation?”

She had no idea why she was baiting him, but it was like there was an imp inside her that wouldn't stop talking. However, rather than being annoyed by the interruption that impression of amusement deepened.

“Indeed, I am counting on it. Your devotion to who and what you believe to be yours is....” he paused. “Not unattractive.” There was a flash of something dark and almost unreadable in his eyes and she frowned, a little unsure as to his reaction. The more extreme parts of her personality usually put people off, not make them look at her with something that was almost....hunger.

“All of these factors combined make you extremely attractive to any unbonded Sentinel working in our field. But there are a number of points I have garnered from my research over the last few years that make me believe that you and I would be uniquely well suited, were we to bond.”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him, and again, he looked faintly amused at her cheek.

“As I have said, unlike many Sentinel's I am not seeking a passive, submissive Guide. I wish a true partner, one that can back me up in the field, one whose skills are complementary to mine. An equal, not a subordinate. But the vast majority of Guides have been conditioned to submissiveness, to passivity, to being subordinate. You however,” he gave her a look that seemed to drink in all of her, in all of her stubborn, quietly defiant glory. “You have never been moulded in that way. You are purely yourself, without having been subject to the social conditioning as to what a Guide is meant to be. As such, if you were to choose to bond with the right Sentinel you could develop into what a Guide _can_ be, rather than stay in the box societal expectations push you into.”

She raised her other eyebrow at him. “And you think that the kind of Guide I could develop into would be one that would match you? As in world class ' _problem solver_ ' you?”

He shrugged, unaffected by her sarcasm. “You are supremely adaptable, that is very clear from my research. And not as wedded to either MI6, or traditional aspects of morality as your _handlers_ ,” he said handlers in a way that was almost indistinguishable with _owners_. “Might want to believe.”

She didn't respond to that because it was truer than she liked to admit. MI6 held her leash, and loaned her out as they would, but she had never stopped resenting it, never stopped chewing at the bonds that trapped her. And on mission there were a number of times when she had taken the more violent, more certain option over the one that could have conceivably led to fewer casualties. She might once have been a gentle thing, but those days were more than a few years and a dozen life threatening circumstances in the past. In fact, there had been occasions over the last number of years where she had been uncomfortably aware that she was teetering on the edge of outright pragmatic expedience, without caring for the body count. 

“But finally, and this is also the thing that made me realise exactly what you are, Alexandra.” He was looking intently at her again, that glint in his eyes she could only categorise as hunger. “As a Guide, you have a _gift_ , Alex.”

She frowned, a little confused. She had no idea what he was referring to. As far as she knew she wasn't particularly extraordinary as a Guide. Admittedly she had little to no understanding of what a Guide could do outside of popular media. She couldn't afford to undertake any in-depth research into the subject, due to MI6's almost constant watchful eye on her. Anything that would hint to an especial interest in Guides was to be avoided at all costs. But the only thing she could think of that he could referring to was the _Thing_ that she could do sometimes, the way she could persuade people, especially Sentinels, not to see her, or that she was wholly harmless, or that they didn't want to enter a room she was hiding in, or in the reverse, that they had an overwhelming urge to tell her everything she wanted to know. It was weird, absolutely. But it might be something that every Guide could do, as far as she knew. And as for everything else, well she'd been on so many suppressants since she had come online and the whole point was that those nullified all of the other signs of Guide expression, such as scent, Sentinel compatibility etc. 

He could tell she genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. But then if she had been so determined to hide what she was, she would have no knowledge that what she could do was out of the ordinary, let alone any appreciation of how rare she was as a projective empath. It was almost a pity he had to tell her, as it arguably weakened his negotiating position. But if he didn't and she decided not to consider his offer because she didn't realise how dangerous her position was at MI6 due to the scarcity value of her ability, or she found out later how rare what she could do was if she decided to accept him, and once they had bonded, then he didn't doubt that there would be hell to pay for her broken trust. And that was not the best way to start a successful partnership.

“You asked me how I knew you were a Guide?” She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on his face.

“Initially I did not. After Damian Cray I was not active for some time as I recovered, and then I had to facilitate my escape from M16 who had extracted me from the plane. But you had piqued my curiosity Alexandra, and so I kept a vague eye on you, especially after you chose not to go to Scorpia as I had suggested. You had interested me enough on our encounters that I wished to see if you would manage to extradite yourself from MI6's control.” His mouth twitched again. “You have a lot of your Father in you, Alex. I suppose I kept track of you for his sake.”

She had so many questions about that, but she didn't dare voice any just in case he stopped talking.

“But once you grew older I started to notice a pattern.” He leant back in his chair. “To be brutally honest, Alexandra, you were _too lucky_. There were too many circumstances where you should have been shot, or otherwise disposed of, when you weren't, too many situations where your targets underestimated you, or were atypically loose lipped. The individuals you were dealing with were serious people Alex, but they behaved in a way that was not normal for them. They told you too much, they kept you alive too long, you escaped too easily. In other words you were either lucky to an extent I had never seen, and even if you had inherited Hunter's luck of the devil, it still seemed excessive, or there was something else going on.”

He looked at her, and she tried very hard not to squirm under his knowing, assessing gaze. “I was curious, and so I looked into the issue more deeply. I was able to find a few individuals still alive despite the train of destruction you tend to leave in your wake, guards, lower level flunkies for example, and I quizzed them about the circumstances around the operations you were involved in. And they all prevaricated in some way as to why they had allowed you to escape, or why their Boss at the time had insisted you not be killed outright, or various things along those lines. And when I....pressed,” he looked at her and she tried not to think about exactly what form that _pressing_ had involved, “they admitted that they couldn't explain it at all. They were all competent professionals, but around you they behaved in a way that was frankly not justifiable. So I knew that what was occurring was not natural. And the only connecting factor between all those incidents of subpar behaviour was _you_.” His eyes on her now were still a little hungry, but also a little amused again, perhaps lit with what almost seemed like admiration. “As they say, once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, three times is enemy action. So I engaged my resources and started tracking you _properly_. And the pattern kept occurring. So I knew you were doing something. But it took me a while to work out _what_ you were doing.”

She couldn't help it, she grumbled. “Well, considering _I_ wasn't too sure what I was doing I think you were one up on me.”

The sense of his amusement deepened. “Well, I had an advantage. I have been Head instructor to Scorpia's Sentinels for almost a decade now. I have undertaken extensive research into Guides and the bond. And it means that I am very familiar with the signs of a Guide in the field. And although there was no evidence anywhere apart from the incidents I mentioned that you were a Guide, I knew your family background. The likelihood of you presenting as a Sentinel or a Guide was more than 50 percent. And you were clearly not a Sentinel. So it gave me an idea of what you might be doing. And how unusual it was.”

She frowned again. “You keep talking about the _Thing_ as though it's not common. Isn't it? I didn't know what to think about it when it started happening, I thought for a few weeks I was going nuts. But I managed to get a read of a very basic Guide primer from one of the Guide underground activists who provided my suppressants and it mentioned that Guides can feel other individual's emotions and so I assumed it was just a variant on that.”

He actually chuckled quietly for a second at that before he continued speaking, while she regarded him with wary suspicion. “Ah no, Alexandra. If every Guide could do what you do the world would be a very different place.”

“Then what is it?” She demanded impatiently, suddenly not caring that she shouldn't antagonise him. She just wanted some _answers_.

He leveled a raised eyebrow at her at her tone, but then seemed to relent. “Yes, normal Guides can sense emotion, but that is usually limited to the emotions of their own Sentinel. Stronger Guides can sometimes sense the emotions of others, but this is usually limited to other Sentinels. Very, very few Guides can sense the emotions of anyone when they try. But you can, can't you Alexandra?” There was that look in his eyes again, that trace of possessive hunger and it made her breath catch. Almost despite her will, she nodded jerkily.

“Yes, I thought so.” His voice betrayed his satisfaction. “But there are a few Guides, a very, very few who can do more than that. Who can use their ability to sense emotion actively, rather than passively. Who can manipulate that emotion, or who can use their abilities to manipulate the senses of those around them, for various purposes.” He was watching her very closely now, eyes glittering as he saw the recognition dawn in her at his description. “It is called projective empathy. And it is an exceptionally unusual gift. And highly prized by many parties.”

“How unusual?” she demanded, swallowing the lump in her throat as he for the first time allowed her to put a name to the _Thing_ , but also damned her with the definition. For by the sounds of it this thing she could do was rare. And rare often meant valuable, and the last thing she needed was to have an even greater target on her back.

He looked at her silently for a moment, taking in the slightly wild look in her eyes, the rigidity in her body language that even the best discipline could not suppress. She clearly did not lack self awareness, so she must have been immediately aware of how his pronouncement was a double edged sword, another threat hanging over her young head. So he was gentler than usual when he replied. 

“I have been operating as a Sentinel for 23 years, Alex, since I came on line at 14. And in all that time I have never encountered a projective empath, nor until I met with those individuals you interacted with, had I ever met another who had. Even the existence of Guides such as yourself is closer to rumour than fact, although the US may hold a handful based on comments I have gathered over the years. Based on that, I would say that even as you are, untrained, and not fully accessing your powers due to the suppressants, you are one of perhaps a 100 Guides operating at your level worldwide. But once trained, and fully online, based on the strength I could feel when you attempted to touch my mind earlier,” he inclined his head to her in genuine respect. “I believe you would be one of a mere handful, who can do what you do, _globally_. You are a unicorn, Alexandra, and unfortunately, that means until you bond, you will be hunted as one.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Apologies for the delay - but please have 12k to make up for it! As always, I have no beta, so I would be very grateful if any reader who notices an error could let me know - thanks in advance!_

He watched with a distant pity as the effect of his words sunk in. The sudden pallor, the blood that retreated from rosy lips pressed together in a tight line, the barely concealed panic in her brown eyes. After a minute, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and then another, and then licked her lips before she cleared her throat.

“And this? This is why you want me, specifically?”

Yassen looked at her, aware somehow that the answer to this question _mattered_. He shook his head slowly.

“No. It is an interesting extra, yes. But in some ways from my perspective it could be seen as a... detriment.”

Her gaze sharpened, his unexpected reply wiping away some of the fog of shock that being notified of the sentence hovering over her head had caused.

“Why?”

He leaned forward in his chair. “Because, once you are trained, you will be too strong for even an Alpha Sentinel like me to control, Alex. So, if I wished a compliant Guide, even one that is paramilitary trained, your gift actually works to my disadvantage,” he explained carefully.

She sat back in her chair taken aback by his bluntness, clearly never having considered that point of view. But _he_ had. He'd considered it very carefully before he approached her. Yes, the benefit of her strength once trained would be invaluable. But the flip side was, as he had said, that once she was trained he would have no chance of controlling her. He wouldn't automatically be the dominant partner as was considered the “traditional” dynamic between Sentinel and Guide. She would be even stronger on the psychic plane than he was with his enhanced senses and his physicality, so she would his equal, not his subordinate. 

“Oh,” she muttered eventually, clearly still a little dumbstruck.

He couldn't resist the opening. “So articulate, Alexandra,” he teased dryly. She frowned at him in mild irritation, but her heart wasn't in it as she thought about what he had revealed. That to him the _Thing_ wasn't altogether a benefit. That was a surprise, and what was even more interesting was that he was willing to reveal that to her, even at this early stage in their interactions. It was probably a deliberate ploy on his part to foster trust, but that didn't stop it from working. 

She sat in silence for a few more minutes as she turned over what he had explained, her agile brain examining it from all angles. He had admitted that he wouldn't be able to control her once she was fully trained, and that made sense, as it would be just him against her, and as a Sentinel the option of leaving her alone locked up somewhere while he went out into the field would go against his every instinct to have her close. And in the field he would need to concentrate on the task in hand and so wouldn't be able to split his focus to keep control of her if he was to also function effectively. So he really _needed_ her willing co-operation in order for their bonding to actually be useful to him.

But Gregorovich was a solo operator, essentially a self contractor, although he often worked for Scorpia. He had little back up or support except what was necessary for the job in hand and that wouldn't include assistance in controlling an unruly Guide. But what about others? Others who _did_ have those resources? What could they do to her to control her?

She looked back up at Yassen, her face even paler, if that was possible.

“But what about if the fact that I was a Guide was discovered by a national level body? Like Six for instance? What would happen if _they_ knew about what I could do?”

Those scared brown eyes demanded answers from him, and he sighed inwardly at the necessity to outline what she might expect in that scenario. It was a delicate dance, this conversation. He wanted to be truthful with her, as much as he could. But the truth was bad enough that baldly stating it might seem like a manipulation to get her to choose him as the better option. But _not_ telling her could be worse, if she came to the conclusion that the outcome for her if her government bound her would possibly be bearable. Because if they got hold her and knew what she was and what she could do, they would destroy her. He knew it, both intellectually and emotionally. For this brilliant, wild, spitfire of a girl, what her own people would do to her in the name of National Security would make every day of the rest of her long trammelled life a living hell. So it was best to be honest, even if it sounded like he was trying to influence her towards his proposal.

“They would forcibly bond you to the strongest unbonded Alpha Sentinel they had. And no doubt he would be under orders to discipline you until you accepted that you must use your gift at his direction, and only at his direction. They would not want to permanently harm you physically, but there are many techniques to break a person's will and spirit if they are utilised for long enough. Deprivation of sleep, physical punishment, food deprivation, solitary confinement. There are drugs that can be used on Guides without affecting their mental abilities, but which make the subject far more susceptible to suggestion if they are used frequently enough. And there is the simple fact of being constantly controlled. Even the strongest personality will break eventually in that circumstance if there is no hope of relief.”

She looked at him, and her eyes were bleak as she recognised the accuracy of the scenarios he was describing. 

“And if I managed to hold myself together enough, and still refused to co-operate in the field?”

He looked at her sombrely for a moment before he replied. “Unlike a solo actor like myself, a national level actor can afford to think in terms of decades. Of generations. So if you refused to co-operate the next logical approach would be to utilise you for the value you would still have. It is likely that any child you have with a Sentinel will be either a Guide or a Sentinel. And with your genetics there is the possibility that a Guide child might inherit your gift. And that child would be malleable, and could be conditioned from birth to obey.”

She breathed out shakily, her pallor only increasing. “You mean,” she said, clearly only keeping her voice steady through significant effort. “That they would _breed_ me.”

He inclined his head to her. “Yes. It would be logical. They would use the genetic contribution of most likely your Sentinel, or perhaps another if they thought them more suitable. But yes, Alexandra, they would have children from you, whether you wanted them or not. You would be too valuable for them not to exploit the opportunity.”

She swallowed hard. “Children that they would raise.” It was a statement, rather than a question but he answered it anyway. 

“Yes, they would want full control and influence over any of your offspring to ensure that they were suitably obedient once they were old enough to present. And allowing you to raise any such children would defeat that purpose. Plus, they would want you pregnant as often as possible, and bringing up any of the children you produce would distract you from that.” 

The pallor of her face was almost grey-green now, and she understandably looked as if she was on the verge of throwing up, the expression on her face mirrored by the numb fear in her eyes as he continued inescapably with his litany of horrors. 

“If it were possible to use surrogates for your gametes I am sure that they would try that too. However, every scientific experiment on that basis has failed. For some reason the offspring of Sentinel/Guide pairings cannot be gestated in a non Sentinel or Guide womb. Every time they have tried it has resulted in a spontaneous miscarriage of the fetus. So yes, Alex, they would ensure that you had as many successful pregnancies as physically possible. In fact I would assume that would be expected of you once you were retired from the field, even if you did co-operate with them regarding your gift. They might be kinder about it if you were a willing soldier, but it wouldn't stop them from expecting you to produce as many children as possible. And undoubtedly they would expect to mainly raise your offspring themselves. Although they would probably bother to justify it to you in those circumstances as merely providing you with assistance with childcare, rather than simply removing your children from you completely.” 

Silence fell between them as she digested the nightmare scenario that he had just laid out for her in excruciating detail, staring at her feet as she did so. The thing is, she didn't think he was wrong. She had always known that if Six found she was a Guide they would have her forcibly bonded to a Sentinel of their choosing before she would have a moment to run. And she had doubted whether in that scenario she would ever be able to get away with not having children. Government and societal expectations were very clear, female Guides, and to a lesser extent, female Sentinels, were expected to reproduce. _Especially_ female Guides. It was there in every cultural expectation, reiterated in all forms of media, that female Guides had a responsibility to try and increase the number of potential Guides, and that meant having _lots_ of children. Which was, if she was honest with herself, an idea that horrified her. She was only _just_ 18\. She wanted a life first before she had any kids! And then she only wanted to have children if _she_ wanted to, not because society and her Government expected it of her. 

But now with the added knowledge of how rare this random thing she could do was, she knew Yassen was correct in his interpretation of how extreme her treatment was likely to be. It seemed that what she could do was extremely rare, and accordingly valuable, and as the possessor of that ability she would never be allowed to escape by Six, or even by the British State. She would be a prisoner for all of her days, subdued and kept in check by whatever Sentinel they bonded her too, forcibly impregnated, either by good old fashioned rape, or by clinical implantation. And she had no illusions about just how awful her Government were prepared to be to her, not after her treatment over the last four years. 

She knew with a deep stomach churning certainty, that she wouldn't be able to handle it. She wouldn't. She would be imprisoned in an invisible (or actual) cage for the rest of her life with no hope, no joy, no autonomy of any kind, brutalised and used. And as Gregorovich had clinically noted, even the strongest personality would eventually break in those circumstances. She didn't fool herself into believing that she would some how be an exception to that rule. Instead, she knew herself well enough to know that in that scenario she would eventually seek the ultimate way out, seek negation rather than be trapped in hell for the rest of her life.

She swallowed again, feeling the nausea rise up in her throat. Suddenly the light and airy room seemed almost claustrophobic, the walls closing in on her, and she could feel her breath coming in short pants, even as she tried to regulate it. 

But then there was a soft touch on her shoulder, an external focus that pulled her out of her downward spiral of contemplation of the potential absolute shit show her life could so easily become. She gulped, shuddered and looked up at Gregorovich as he stood next to her, an expression of distant concern on his face.

“I think perhaps we could both do with some fresh air,” he observed. “Would you walk outside with me, Alexandra?”

Fresh air sounded amazing. She nodded jerkily and then made to stand, her legs a little shaky from the emotional shock of what she had been envisaging. He reached out a hand and cupped her elbow for a minute, helping her stabilise, and then retreated back a step. Once she was steady he waved to the doors. “This way.” 

She followed as he opened the doors for them both, ushered her past the attentive guards, whom he prevented from following them with a brief shake of his head, and guided her down a wide, arched hallway, painted in whites and blues. It was light and airy and she inhaled the fresh air with relief.

She had noticed when she had been walked from her “room” to the living space where she had met Yassen, that wherever she had ended up was warm. As in a tropical level of warm. So she wasn't surprised when he led her outside the building onto a wide oval terrace to find the sun blazing down and a welcome heat encompassing her, driving out the chill that the last few minutes conversation had laid in her bones.

She had to blink a few times to adjust to the brilliance of the sunlight but when she could see again she bit back a gasp. Not that successfully from the slight amusement on the face of the Russian accompanying her. But she hadn't expected anything like _this_.

They were perched on a wide stone terrace built at the very highest point of what was clearly a tropical island. Below her she could see a scattering of white stone buildings surrounded by tropical vegetation and below that a wide strip of glitteringly white sandy beach, that stretched around the soft bend of the coast as far as she could see. The water of the ocean was that perfect turquoise green that marked a lagoon, and then further out suddenly darkened in colour to a deep blue, just past where a froth of small waves marked the edge of a reef, the rocks just sticking up through the water. The sky was a clear and cloudless blue, and despite how far she looked, the horizon was endless, not another boat or island in view. It was gorgeous, the very definition of a tropical paradise, and she knew that she was gawping like an idiot (as was evident from the deepening amusement she could feel from her Russian captor) but she really didn't care.

“It's _beautiful_ ,” she couldn't help but blurt out.

“Yes, I rather like it too,” he admitted, clearly both amused and pleased by her reaction. She had to give him that, when he decided to offer an incentive he went all out. Staying here for three months would not exactly be a hardship. At all.

She drank the view in and let the heat and the sun and the life surrounding her drive her demons away, just for a moment. However, after a few minutes of quiet Yassen interrupted her contemplation.

“Alexandra.”

She dragged her eyes away from the view reluctantly to look back at him.

“Yes?”

“I am not prepared to tell you exactly where we are. But what I _will_ say is that we are in the South Pacific as you may have already guessed.” He waved a hand to encompass the view. “The island is 15 miles in diameter. This is the highest point. The nearest land is another island three days sail with good winds in that direction.” He pointed vaguely north-east. 

She frowned at him. Why was he telling her this? She was his prisoner. Even she would be unlikely to be able to break out of the cell he had created for her, and it wasn't in his interests to provide her with information that might aid any such escape attempt. But he merely responded to her frown with a patient expression.

“I have a suitable respect for both your skills and your determination, so I arranged for the few boats that normally berth here to be transferred to the next island in advance of your arrival. Accordingly, the only current viable way off this island is by helicopter. There is a pad over there, but no helicopter on the island at this time.” He gestured to their right, behind the building they had just exited from.

“In three days, well,” he checked his watch briefly, “two and a half now, a helicopter will arrive on the island to deliver supplies. When it leaves it will have one of two people in it. If you choose not to take up my offer to detox here, _you_ will be on it, with an escort of my men. You will be drugged in the same way that you were when you arrived, because I do not want you learning our exact location. But you have my word that my men will return you unharmed to your original location. However, if, as we discussed, you decide to accept my hospitality for the period of your detox, _I_ will be leaving on that helicopter. Andrew and Amelia will arrive when I leave, and will help you with any queries that you may have. So to summarise, in a little less than three days, if you wish, you will be gone from here. Understood?”

He looked at her and she nodded. She didn't know if she believed him, but she also didn't _not_ believe him either. So far he had held to his word but she didn't know how long that would last. 

“If you give me your word that you will not try to escape, and as if you choose to, you will be leaving in two and a bit days, I am prepared to uncuff you, and treat you as my guest rather than my prisoner for the remainder of your stay on the island. Do you agree?”

She looked at him, trying to parse his sincerity. She could say yes, and then do her best to flee but if he was telling the truth, and from what she could see the island genuinely did seem to be situated in the middle of nowhere, she would have broken her word to him for no reason. And strangely enough, she found herself reluctant to do that. 

“I'm prepared to give you my word that I won't try to escape as long as you fulfil your side of the bargain. If I tell you I want to leave and then in three days time that helicopter doesn't come, or you aren't prepared to let me leave on it when it does then,” she gave him a hard look that promised mayhem. “All bets are off.”

He smiled slightly and inclined his head to her. “I would expect nothing less. Here.” 

He turned her with a soft touch on her shoulder and she felt the deft touch of his hands as he efficiently unlocked the handcuffs that had been restraining her hands behind her back. She snatched her hands around to her front and then grimaced as knotted muscles protested the sudden movement, before she started the only too familiar process of stretching and rotating to regain full mobility in her shoulders, arms and hands. It wasn't the first time, or even the tenth time that she had been cuffed for a long period of time, and she was only too familiar with the process.

He watched her as she wrestled her recalcitrant limbs into submission, a certain amount of amusement lurking in his eyes, and then when she had settled down again, waved a hand back in the direction of the building.

“I think that we have done enough talking about serious subjects for the day. So I offer you a choice, would you like lunch now? Or a brief tour of the property now, and food later?”

She returned his look with a reciprocal wary amusement. It was fundamentally bad spy craft to offer a potential enemy the chance to familiarise themselves with their surroundings, but from his cool expression and that glint of amusement in his eyes he clearly knew that and didn't care. He either thought that she would keep her word, or he had such confidence in his own abilities to track her down if she was to run that he didn't consider letting her gain the lay of the land to be a significant risk. From the look on his face, and his reputation, she thought it was probably a combination of the two. But there was no point in worrying about that now. She would keep her word, at least for the next few days. Admittedly she would snoop a bit as well if she could get away with it, but if that file he had compiled on her was at all accurate, she knew that he would almost expect that, and would have prepared accordingly. 

So she merely raised an eyebrow at him, and replied equally coolly. “A tour would be nice, if you have the time.”

He nodded and shrugged, just a little. “For you, Alexandra, I have cleared my schedule.” For some reason that made her face heat, just a little and from the increased level of humour in the look he slanted at her, he noticed her blush. 

“Well then,” she matched his shrug, determinedly nonchalant, “shall we?” 

He moved off back into the building, walking her down long corridors simply decorated in that predominately azure blue and white colour scheme, pale stone floors cool underfoot, open arches and windows spread wide to catch the island breezes, simply dressed with floating white cotton gauzes. He pointed out bathrooms, a library, another few reception rooms as well as the study where they had met. A set of stairs that led up to his bedroom, other guest bedrooms, an interior dining room for the few days when the rains came and the temperature dropped. The kitchen, set in a separate building reached by way of an internal courtyard surrounded by a covered portico and paved in white cobblestones, blinding in the sun. Then there was a breakfast room that was half internal and half a partly covered terrace that perched on the edge of a cliff with stunning views down over the island and the ocean. It was where he informed her that he ate most of his meals when it wasn't raining, and where they would have lunch later. It was a beautiful property, elegantly decorated and so far from what she would have expected from him that she wondered if he had anything to do with how the house was set out, or whether this was simply a place that he had taken temporary possession of. 

He must have been aware that she was itching to interrogate him, because he paused in his contemplation of the view from the breakfast terrace and turned to face her. “What is it you want to ask, Alex?”

She paused for a moment, not wanting to annoy him with arbitrary questions, but he seemed unusually receptive so she decided to risk it.

“Is this place yours? Or are you just here temporarily?”

His mouth twitched in a smile so small she might not have seen it if she wasn't looking. “Essentially yes, it is mine. It is technically owned by a shell company, and rented out for most of the year to cover the running costs, but I own the company, so.” He shrugged.

She gawped at him for a moment, before she realised she was doing so and shut her mouth with a snap. “But it must have cost a _fortune_.”

That sense of amusement deepened. “Not as much as you might think. I was offered the undeveloped island some years ago now, at a particularly good price in exchange for a particularly difficult assignment that I had completed. I could see the potential of it, both as a legitimate business if developed and for my personal use. So I invested.”

“But, the _cost_.”

He shrugged again. “It is always sensible to diversify your investment portfolio. Plus after the length of my career I am a very wealthy man, Alexandra. And it was not long after I had decided not to put my bid into one of the Guide families I mentioned to you, so I had a great deal of liquidity available at that point. I had a choice as to how to re-invest those funds, and I chose to put those monies into building what you see here.” He looked around, quietly pleased with what he surveyed. “It took a considerable number of years to finish due to the isolation of the location. Everything had to be shipped in. But I believe that it was worth it. It now more than pays for itself by being rented out to the super rich who wish absolutely privacy for most of the year. Although I can of course reserve it for my use alone with enough fore warning.”

Which he clearly had for their meeting. But then she picked up on what he said about the island covering its costs. “Won't you lose money then, if I choose to stay here for three months?”

He looked at her, that damnable amusement dancing in his eyes again. “It will be more than worth it if you choose to bond with me at the end of that time.”

She raised her chin to look at him. “And if I don't?” 

He inclined his head in acknowledge of her challenge. “As I said, the island makes a decent profit. More than enough to cover a few months when it is not being rented out. So I am not concerned.”

She mentally shook her head. Yassen Gregorovich, master assassin, world class problem solver, and...luxury resort owner? It almost didn't compute. But all it really showed was that she didn't really know the man at all.

There was a noise at the door as one of the guards knocked politely and ignoring her, spoke directly to her erstwhile tour guide. “Sir, you asked me to tell you when lunch is ready.” Yassen nodded in response. 

“Good. We'll eat in here. Alex, are you ready to eat now? If not, we can arrange for it to be re-heated once we have finished the tour.”

She could smell the fragrant scent of whatever had been cooking, some kind of fish from the smell of it, and her stomach suddenly rumbled as she realised how long it must have been since she actually ate, what with being drugged and unconscious for hours. So she shook her head hastily.

“No, now sounds good.” 

The corner of his mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a smile. “Good. Shall we?” He waved a hand to indicate the table set under the veranda, out of the sun, but within reach of the cool breezes, and she preceded him there, feeling strangely shy for a moment at the almost absent mindedly courtesy he seemed determined to extend to her. It was so different to all of their previous interactions, and it threw her off. But then, another small voice in her head pointed out, every time they had interacted before he had been in his work mode, or in a situation of extreme stress, which she was normally adding to. And no one behaved the same in those circumstances as they did in a less stressful environment. Perhaps this version of Yassen Gregorovich, the cool control with an underlay of amusement, the predatory grace leavened with a layer of courtesy, was another real facet to the man that she had previously only seen as a cold professional killer. Or perhaps it was merely a pretence to trick her into agreeing to his proposal. She couldn't tell, she didn't know. But she _did_ know that before she made any kind of decision that would have a permanent impact on her life she was determined to find out. 

She would have been happy to eat anything, now that she was aware of how long it had been since she had eaten solid food, but lunch was delicious, a large platter of fish kebabs, chunks of a meaty white fish she didn't recognise that Yassen said was local to the area interspersed with chunks of swordfish and sweet peppers, on a bed of rice. He insisted that she be served first, and when she frowned at him, quirked that small smile at her confusion. 

“Traditionally,” he explained, as he watched her spoon a generous serving of rice onto her plate from the serving dish, “a Sentinel should always ensure that his Guide eats first when they eat together.” His tone was wryly amused and she raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a speaking look even as she passed the serving dish over to him.

“One,” she pointed her fork at him, her tone very dry, “you are being extremely premature. And two, how does that even work? Surely the Sentinel will be doing the more active physical work that needs the additional calories, so that actually makes very little logical sense,” she replied with tart asperity. 

His mouth twitched with repressed amusement at her caustic response. It was a very _Alex Rider_ reaction.

“I did say it was tradition,” he rebutted mildly. “They do not always have to make sense. But what is true is that most Sentinels have an inbuilt need to care for the welfare of their Guides. To have their Guide go hungry while they eat?” He shrugged. “It would rub against the grain.” He put down the dish and picked up his own fork. “Plus, the activities that a Guide does for their Sentinel, the shoring up of the Sentinel's mental defences, the ability to prevent their Sentinel from zoning – those things use calories just as much as the Sentinel's more physical activities do.”

She focused on her plate and the food, which was delicious, as she thought about what he had just said. She had never really considered that the abilities that Guides possessed might be as calorie devouring as a Sentinel's more physically obvious skills, but then she was willing to admit that out of necessity her detailed knowledge of Guides was scanty, in fact almost non-existent. It had been too dangerous to show an interest when all her internet searches were monitored and her movements regularly tracked. But clearly Gregorovich knew far more than she did, and perhaps he might be willing to share. 

When she looked up, he was neatly dissecting his kebabs with a knife and fork, but seemed to feel her eyes on him as he immediately met her look with an raised eyebrow of enquiry.

“You mentioned that you are the Lead Trainer for Scorpia's Sentinels and Guides?”

“Hhmm, yes. Although in accordance with most organisations with paramilitary aspects, we have far more Sentinels than Guides.”

That made sense.

“But you _do_ train Guides?”

He shrugged a little. “In part. As a Sentinel I can train bonded pairs as _pairs_. But we do not have any unbonded Guides. And even if we did, I would not be suitable to train them. A Guide needs training by another Guide to be able to fully use their abilities. Even in a bonded pair a Guide will also need Guide specific training, which as a Sentinel I am not suited to provide. Which is where Amelia assists me.”

Amelia. That name again.

“Amelia. The bonded Guide you mentioned before? The one that will come here with her Sentinel if I choose to stay?”

He nodded. “Yes. She has been responsible for providing the Guide specific training to the few bonded Guides that Scorpia has on its roster. She is very competent.”

The corner of his mouth twitched in almost a smile. “I think you would like her. She is almost as fearless as you.”

Whether or not he meant it to, the comment felt like a compliment and she coloured again, just a little, which he noted but didn't mention, to her relief. The rest of their lunch passed in a strangely comfortable silence. Once they had finished, he offered to finish their tour, which she quickly agreed to.

He led her down a wide white stone flight of stairs to the lower level of the property and out onto an even wider terrace where a stunning infinity pool seemed to cascade over the edge of the drop-off into the thick vegetation below. 

“The pool is fresh water. A lot of guests prefer to have the option rather than always swimming in the sea.” 

There were loungers in the shade of the overhang of the floor above, and a small serve yourself wet bar with a variety of drinks in its refrigerator, and an open cupboard with clean rolled up towels. 

“Over there,” he pointed over to the left, “is the helipad. And there,” he gestured to where two whitewashed posts marked the beginnings of another, more rustic looking set of stairs winding downwards, “those are the stairs down to the beach. But some guests don't like to use those, so there is the elevator,” his mouth twitched in that almost smile again, “or lift as you Brits call it.” He walked them over under the overhang, back almost inside the French doors that divided the inside and the outside of the house on the lower level until she saw the familiar sight of a pair of white painted lift doors. “This goes directly down to the beach if you are feeling too lazy to walk,” he commented, his tone a little sly. She rolled her eyes at his mild teasing. If there was one thing about her that his research would have told him was that _lazy_ was a particularly inaccurate description of her personality. 

“Now I will show you to your new room, and then I must leave you, as I have some paperwork to finish this afternoon. But I would be pleased if you would join me for dinner tonight. I usually eat about 20.00. However, if you are too tired, the kitchen will be happy to provide you with a tray in your room if you let them know.”

She shook her head. “No, I'm sure that won't be necessary. I feel fine now, and I can always have a nap this afternoon if I need too.” 

Why on earth she was hastening to reassure someone who was technically her kidnapper she didn't know, but he was surprisingly easy to talk to and she wanted to have as much time as possible to try to make an assessment of him before she had to make up her mind whether to take up his offer of this luxurious exile to detox in. And she only had a few days to do that, so hiding in her room wouldn't exactly be conducive to that goal.

He slanted her another of those almost smiles. “Good. I would enjoy your company.” Her bloody emotions decided to betray her again at his seeming sincerity, she could feel the heat of her blush on her cheekbones and had to glance away. It had been years since someone had seemed to actively want her presence for nothing more than her company. Not since Jack had headed back to the States, and so she wasn't quite sure how to deal with the implications of what seemed to be an genuine admission on his part, after so many years pretending that her unending solitude didn't affect her. 

Thankfully, he seemed to pick up on her discomfort, for he didn't comment on the flush that had faintly appeared on her golden skin, but merely started back up the stairs to the original storey of the house where they had started the tour and indicated that she should follow him. He led her to a door at the other end of the corridor from the more public rooms, next to other rooms that he had previously indicated were guest bedrooms. 

“Here. I think you will find this more pleasant accommodation than where you woke up.” There was a flash of hidden amusement in his eyes again. “As you may note, in this room, the lock is on the _inside_.”

She just about managed not to roll her eyes at his blatant teasing, but it was a close run thing. He opened the door for her but she hesitated in the entrance, suddenly aware both of their proximity and the proximity of a bed. Although she was strong and trained, and had shaped herself to be as deadly as possible since she had come to the realisation that she had little chance of escaping from Six until she was a legal adult, she also wasn't over-confident enough to believe that she would have a hope in hell of beating him if he decided to over-power her. She would leave him with marks, but baring a miracle he would eventually win in any fight between them. And one thing the last four years had taught her was to be wary of being alone with powerful men.

Despite her best efforts, some of what she had been thinking must have shown on her face, for his mouth softened from his habitual straight line, wry acknowledgement hovering around its corners and he stepped back, leaving her standing alone in the doorway. “So I will see you this evening, Alexandra.” His lips twitched more with amusement this time. “I will not bother trying to tell you not to explore, because that would be pointless,” he noted with dry humour, and her own lips twitched at the almost fond tone of resignation in his voice. Clearly he _had_ been keeping an eye on her for some time if he was familiar enough with how she operated to know that telling her to not to do something never ended well. 

“But I will say that there are a few locked doors in the property that you will not be able to open.” There was that glint of amusement in his eyes again. “Undoubtedly you will try, and I wish you every success because if you can open them with the limited resources you have available, clearly I need to upgrade my security again.” He caught the glint in her own eyes at that, and hastened to clarify. “Please, do not take that as a challenge. I am just being realistic based on the reports noted in your file.”

Her mouth twitched at the corners at his hasty backtrack and she had to fight back the urge to snort with laughter, but in the end simply nodded. He inclined his head to her in return. “Until then, Alexandra. Enjoy your afternoon, and I will see you at 20.00 in the room where we had lunch.” 

And with a last nod he turned on his heel and stalked off. She watched him as he left, some part of her abstractly drinking in the sleek, functional muscled lines of him with appreciation now he wasn't watching her in return. But after a moment she realised what she was doing and gave herself a mental shake. What on earth was she thinking? Yassen Gregorovich might not seem to have any inclination to hurt her at this point in time, but he had still arranged for her kidnap and was technically her captor at this point. Although admittedly the minute he had taken her cuffs off they had both been aware that his control over her had immediately significantly dropped. She might not be able to take him down in a fight, body to body, but what she genuinely was and if he had truly done his research he would know this, was a world-class expert in escaping from dangerous situations and evading capture once she had escaped. And while the island was only 15 miles in diameter, that was still a hell of a space for her to hide in if she needed to. 

So, although it was a pleasant captivity so far, she was still a prisoner, and letting down her guard enough for her traitorous body to admit that it found the sight of Yassen Gregorovich walking away from her attractive was not on. With that stern reminder foremost in her mind she pushed open the heavy door to what he had indicated were her new sleeping quarters, and slipped inside. 

He was right, it was _significantly_ more pleasant than the functional cell she had woken up in.

The room was clearly set on a corner of the property and large windows draped in gauzy white cotton studded the two external walls, their march only broken by a pair of currently closed French doors, also hung with cotton sheers that clearly led onto some form of balcony. A half opened door in the corner of the room showed glimpses of what looked like an ensuite bathroom through the opening. 

The bed that dominated one internal wall was at least a Queen size, maybe a King. It was a deconstructed four poster in style, with no curtains but a roof of stretched cotton that matched the drapes at the windows and plain square dark wood pillars, made up with expensive looking crisp bedding and a mountain of plump pillows. It looked cool, comfortable and deeply inviting, but she was determined that she wasn't going to avail herself of its embrace just yet. Instead she wandered around the rest of the room, drinking it all in. It was more a suite than a simple room, and not just because of its extensive size, but because of the clear zones delineated for sleep and living. In the bedroom section, there was a heavy French style wardrobe in dark wood that toned in with the bed, matching chests of drawers, and a dressing table with a three way mirror and targeted lighting, the soft velvet covered stool drawn up in front of it in line with the styling of the rest of the furniture. 

In the living room area on the other internal wall hung a sizeable wall mounted TV, one of those that doubled as a mirror when not in use, with stocked bookshelves and a row of cupboards ranked underneath it, and a large L- shaped couch placed strategically in front of it for the occupant of the room to lounge on and watch whatever they wanted to. There was also what looked like the kind of catalogue she had seen in hotel explaining media options lying on the top of the bookshelves, but she left that for later. 

When she investigated the cupboards she found a disguised mini fridge in one, already stocked with snacks, soft drinks and miniatures of alcohol. The next cupboard had a mini freezer filled with ice and, she snorted with amusement, ice-cream. Clearly being the kind of uber rich people who Yassen usually hired this place out to when he wasn't using it had some perks. The final cupboard held an electric kettle, a small coffee maker and all the necessary utensils, cups, glasses and supplies to allow any guest to make themselves a drink, whether hot or cold without having to leave the room, or call for a staff member. All together it was a sweet setup.

She prowled further. The ensuite had a huge white bathtub with a window looking out over the island so that a bather could lounge in the water and enjoy the view. The separate shower was a walk in, glass enclosed and spacious, and already stocked with suitable toiletries. The whole room was tiled in white marble, with a black slate floor that was cool against her bare feet when she slipped her boots and socks off. To her darkly tinged amusement her toiletries bag from her hotel room sat innocently on the double basin vanity. Of _course_ Gregorovich's capture team would have known where she was staying and broken into her room. In fact she wondered exactly how long they had been watching her before they swooped in, and then pushed that thought firmly away, not enjoying the feeling of vulnerability it evoked.

After seeing her toiletries bag in the en-suite she wasn't surprised to open the wardrobe doors and find some of her clothes from her hotel room hanging up. But there were other items as well in both the wardrobe and the drawers, things she hadn't bought yet for her holiday, or wouldn't have thought to purchase. A handful of bikinis in bright colours, ranging from modest to not very, two swim suits, one clearly cut for more athletic activities than the other, t-shirts, swimming goggles, loose cotton trousers and a variety of relaxed cotton t-shirts in different colours and patterns. Extra underwear that she noted, with another betraying flush of colour to her cheeks at the idea of him ordering her something that intimate. A fleece, and a lightweight waterproof zip up top – clearly it rained on the island at least occasionally. Pairs of shorts, a few long sleeved tops and beach overwraps, the kind of thing she would throw on after swimming over a bikini or a swim suit. It was far more stuff than she would ever need for three days on the island and she shook her head in rueful amusement at his evident (and premature) confidence that she would take up his offer of three months on the island to detox.

But her mild irritation at his presumption didn't stop her from grabbing one of the more modest bikinis to change into. Five minutes later she was bikini clad, covered in factor 30 from the bottles helpfully left in the ensuite, and had tugged on a pair of shorts and a tee over the top of her new swimwear. There had been flip flops, trainers and a pair of sandals in the capacious bottom of the wardrobe as well, and a few hats stuck on the top rail. She toed on the flip flops and for a moment paused, considering the hats and hesitating over whether to bother. Then she shrugged and grinned to herself. Fuck it. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it in _style_.

So she grabbed a straw trilby, the golden weave banded with a black ribbon and positioned it at a suitably jaunty angle, dumped the swimming goggles, a banana and a bottle of water from the fridge and the fruit bowl on top of the cupboards into the canvas beach bag she had discovered alongside the hats, and then with a brazen smirk at her own reflection in the floor length mirror on its stand beside the door, headed out to explore.

She undertook a quick recce as she moved through the main corridor of the house and then padded down the stairs to the lower terrace, noting possible escape routes as she did so in a far more overt way than she had when Yassen had narrated their earlier tour. She momentarily considered exploring the helipad and that side of the complex, but the beach held more immediate interest. There were multiple strategic justifications for that choice including that she wanted to establish if there actually _were_ any current options for getting off this island under her own steam. She also wanted to ensure that she had a few escape routes from the villa worked out if she had to make a run for it in the next few days. But also, if she was being honest, she really wanted to see if the beach was as beautiful as the rest of the island had been so far. The idea of a swim in the endless blue expanse of the ocean sounded blissful. 

So she headed straight for the wide steps at the end of the terrace that her kidnapper-come-host had pointed out and bounced down the white stone expanse as it wound its shallow stepped track down the slope, through the dense expanse of the tropical foliage, unknown birds calling and sometimes flashing through the trees in a brilliant splash of colour and bright flowers studding the undergrowth beside the path. If she was anywhere other than the Pacific she would be worried about snakes due to the thickness of the vegetation, but, as result of a brief natural history obsessive period when she was a little girl (which had driven Ian _nuts_ ) she knew that there were almost no terrestrial snakes native to coral islands like this one. If the island had been somewhere off South America things might be very different, and she mentally shuddered at the recollection of a documentary she had once seen of an island off the coast of Brazil aptly nicknamed Snake Island. Total nightmare. 

But that cheery thought was abruptly dismissed as she reached the end of the path, turned a corner and was confronted with..... _beach_.

Endless white sand, stretching as far as her eyes could see around the curve of the island, every so often broken up with a smattering of rocks leading down into the turquoise blue of the ocean. Further out the frothing of waves indicated the point where the shallow waters of the lagoon hit the enveloping wall of the coral reef that protected the mini Eden before the sudden plunge of the depths on the other side of the protective coral wall. The darkening of the waters was distinct enough that Alex could see from the safety of the beach. She bet that the diving was _amazing_.

It was beautiful, and entirely private and Alex could see exactly both why Yassen had bought the place in the first place, and why oligarchs would pay so much to stay here. 

She managed to tear her attention away from the hypnotic blue of the ocean with an effort and made a gallant effort to explore the beach and its surrounds instead, mentally tallying up possible escape routes and places to hide if it became necessary. But she also took account of the handful of luxurious beach huts, each furnished with white canvas day beds and sun loungers, and the small wet bar, that was already fully stocked, the contents free for the taking. 

Resisting the urge to just jump into the sea, she dumped her bag in the closest cabana and determinedly set out to explore in more detail, shoving the siren call of the ocean to the back of her mind for a minute. Reconnaissance now, recreation later. But with her full focus on the not very large area it didn't take long until she felt that she had a decent enough grasp of her surroundings and could afford to indulge. So with a squeal of internal delight she stripped off her cover-up, grabbed the swimming goggles that she had found in the room and dived into the bath warm water of the shallow lagoon. 

It was late in the day before Yassen saw his errant guest again. He had expected that she would disappear as soon as he had granted her freedom, and hadn't been at all surprised when his security personnel reported that she had spent most of the day down at the beach, swimming and taking up residence under one of the shaded cabanas when she wasn't cavorting in the ocean like a dolphin. But he still allowed himself a pang of relief when the cameras placed throughout the villa picked up her return from the shore, tracking sand in her wake as she padded back through the cool marble corridors of the house to her allocated room, hair a rapidly drying mass of waves from the salt and the sun under that ridiculous hat. He hadn't been genuinely worried that she would have taken the first opportunity to cut and run, at least as far as it was possible to run on a location like this where all the possible avenues to exit had been deliberately removed, as otherwise he would have never let her out of her cuffs at all. But there had been a small kernel of concern, and the sight of her lithe frame on the surveillance monitors as she traipsed through the corridors brought relief from that worry. The proposal that he was offering to her would never work without both parties being willing to extend a certain amount of trust, and to date it looked as though both she and he were willing to adhere to their unspoken bargain.

He allowed himself another small pulse of relief and pleasure when she appeared at the entrance to the terrace room right on the dot of 8pm, shifting from foot to foot on the threshold, a little hesitant. 

“Alex,” he welcomed her. “Come in. Are you hungry?”

She slipped into the room, ghost quiet on what he realised were bare feet below the long loose skirt and off one shoulder peasant style top that he recognised from the luggage that his men had retrieved from her hotel room. Her hair was loose, a streaked blonde mass, falling down over shoulders that were already starting to tan a little after only a day spent in the sun, and she fairly glowed with life and vitality. She was objectively very lovely, and while that had genuinely been an almost non-existent factor in his decision to make his offer to her, he had to admit that from the perspective of a man who had been taught to find pleasure with both genders, but whose natural aesthetic inclination was for women, the idea of spending a lifetime in close proximity to such beauty was not exactly displeasing. And it was an ingrained beauty, a thing of bone structure and fine features, not just the gloss that youth could place on even an ordinary creature. She would stay beautiful even as she aged, youth transmuting into elegance.

He pulled out a chair and she nodded her acceptance, sliding into it soundlessly, wide brown eyes flicking across the room, taking in the table set with two places and the sun already descending to the horizon in a spectacular ball of orange fire, wisps of cloud around it streaked in amber and gold. He busied himself while she took everything in by setting out the bread basket and the dishes of oil and balsamic vinegar and then by retrieving the covered serving dishes of sauce drenched pasta and chicken breasts from where they had been sitting on warming burners on the sideboard. Guessing that she wasn't one who liked to cede control in even the little things, he served himself a decent portion of both and ceremoniously took a bite first (look! Not drugged), which she observed with a twitch of a smile that hovered around the corners of her mobile mouth before she spooned out a generous portion of both the chicken and the pasta and set to enthusiastically. Thankfully there seemed to be none of the reluctance he had seen in some women to eat heartily in front of a man in Alex, instead she ate with relish, and then filled up the edges with bread that she dipped in the oil and the balsamic, and then used to mop up the smears of sauce left in her bowl. 

He had been watching her as she ate, a certain amusement in his eyes as she devoured the food. But it was fair enough she supposed, as she had been watching him as well. Plus if things went as he wanted he would have to become used to her attitude towards food, which was she ate it enthusiastically whenever she could. The combination of a fast burning metabolism, her normal high energy lifestyle and the many situations she had been in over the last four years when food had been a scarce commodity meant that she always appreciated a good meal, especially one she didn't have to cook herself.

They were both quiet while they ate, giving the meal the attention it deserved. It was only some time later when they had finished and Yassen was nursing a coffee, as she cradled a mug of, surprisingly, Twinings English breakfast tea in her hands (he really had prepared for her arrival) that conversation resumed, Alex being the first to break the (surprisingly) companionable silence.

“If I was willing to consider your proposal – how would that work?”

He put down his coffee and regarded her seriously. “As I said, you would stay here for the period of your detox, with Andrew and Amelia in attendance, both for company, and to instruct you in the various aspects of Guide and bonded training that you may be curious about, as well as anything else in their skill sets that you would like to learn. Initially, the Guide training would be theoretical, but as the suppressants wear off, your Guide abilities would start to come on-line. I believe that this would be essentially the first time you have experienced your Guide abilities, as you stated that you started taking suppressants from even before your abilities fully developed. Is that correct?”

She nodded.

“So I would expect that the first traces of your full abilities would start to become apparent between four and six weeks after you stopped taking your suppressants. But it would probably take around three months for the suppressants to wholly work their way out of your system. And then it might take some time for you to learn to deal with abilities as strong as yours will be.”

She curled her legs into her on the seat, pulling her long skirt down around her ankles and wrapped an arm around her kneecaps, her chin resting on them as she regarded him solemnly. 

“How can you be so sure that my abilities will be so strong? I mean I have no idea how strong I'll be, so how do you know?”

He sipped his coffee before he answered her, trying to think of a way to articulate something he somehow knew almost instinctively, deep in his guts from that part of him that was more Sentinel than normal man.

“I admit that it is a partial guess on my part. But it's an informed one. What you can do, Alex, the abilities you currently use, you are accessing those _through your suppressants_. In essence, you are able to utilise a part of your abilities that 99% of Guides have no access to through a blanket of drugs that are specifically formulated to tamp down your abilities until they are undetectable. It's like a chess master playing chess with boxing gloves and a blindfold on and still managing to outplay 99% of the chess playing population.”

She blinked at the analogy. 

“So you think that this also means that the _Thing_ will probably become stronger as I come off the drugs,” she mused.

He raised an eyebrow at her understatement. “I think that the _Thing_ , as you call it, or your empathic abilities if we are being more precise, will increase _significantly_ in strength. And there are other aspects of being a fully online Guide that you will have never experienced before that you may to become used to.”

She raised an eyebrow in return. “Such as?”

He shrugged.

“Amelia is far better equipped to explain it than me, but fully online Guides are far sensitive to other people's emotions, and there is a genuinely psychic aspect to Guide abilities which is not discussed with unbonded Sentinels that you will have to become familiar with. Amelia will have to explain to you, as I can't, being unbonded. But I expect that coming on-line, all in all, may be a bit of a disruptive experience, even for you, and even with the way you have been utilising the parts of your abilities that have managed to push through the suppressants. So I would expect that you will need some time to adjust to all of those changes.”

She regarded him soberly for a moment, brown eyes considering. “So once I am fully online, and have “adjusted” to these new abilities what would happen next?”

“We would have to test if we are biochemically compatible.”

“And how would we do that, a blood test?”

He shook his head. “No, it's more basic than that. Scent.”

She frowned. “Scent? But how, if you aren't on the island? Some kind of electronic scanner?” 

His lips twitched in amusement. “It's a far more low tech solution than that actually. T-shirts.”

Her face creased in confusion. “T-shirts? What do you mean?”

He let the corner of his lips curl into a small smile at her frustration with something she didn't instantly understand, that active brain of hers always seeking answers. “As you know, Sentinels have enhanced physical senses. The higher number of enhanced senses, the stronger the Sentinel. For example, many Sentinels only have one, or two enhanced senses. A few have three or four.”

“How many do you have?”

He blinked at her. “Five. I am a five sense Sentinel. An Alpha Sentinel as it were.” She raised an eyebrow at that, somehow not surprised. It made perfect sense when she thought about it. There was a reason he was such an urban legend in his own lifetime amongst the clandestine community.

“Guides do not generally have enhanced physical senses. But they match their Sentinels by providing an empathic or psychic steadying force to their Sentinels which allows the Sentinel to properly control their enhanced senses.”

“So that they don't zone.” Her statement was half a question and he nodded to confirm. 

“Yes. The more enhanced senses a Sentinel has, the higher the risk that he or she can become lost in their senses, that they _zone_ , as you call it. Being bonded to a Guide prevents this, as it provides an anchor for the Sentinel's control of their abilities.”

“Right. But what does that have to do with t-shirts and scent?”

“Well, as I mentioned, Guides do not have enhanced physical senses. But there is a partial exception to that rule. Guides, like Sentinels, can smell if a Sentinel would be biochemically compatible, _bond_ compatible with them, just as Sentinels can smell an unbonded Guide in the same way.”

“Huh.” His mouth twitched as he watched her absorb that, her expression contemplative.

“So, t-shirts?”

His mouth curled up. “T-shirts,” he confirmed. “Once you and I are both free of our suppressants, and Amelia will be able to check this for you by reviewing a thumb prick blood sample, we will both sleep overnight in a brand new, clean t-shirt that has been washed in Sentinel neutral detergent. Then after we have worn the t-shirts for around 12 hours, those unwashed t-shirts will be sealed in foil envelopes to ensure that our personal scents remain strong on them. I will send mine here, to you on the island, Andrew and Amelia will arrange for the delivery of yours to wherever I am. Then we will open them and smell each other's scented t-shirt. If it smells pleasant to you, that will be a sign that I am biochemically compatible with you. For myself it will be the same, if your t-shirt smells good to me, it is a sign that you are bond compatible with me on a biochemical level.”

She frowned again. “What happens if one person smells good to the other, but the other smells horrible?”

“That is very unlikely to happen. Generally, compatibility is mutual. But if it did, it would be inadvisable to bond, as there would probably be an underlying health issue with the partner whose scent smelled unpleasant.”

He could see her agile brain working, considering everything that he was telling her. “And what's to prevent me from lying and saying that you smelt terrible, even if you didn't? It would get me off the hook, wouldn't it?”

He tilted his head as he regarded her. “Perhaps,” he noted mildly. “But there are other back up blood tests I could request that you take. And also, you would not be promising me anything simply by taking the scent test. All it does is establish basic physiological compatibility. I will not be there in person, so you need not have any concerns that mere exposure to my scent will initiate bonding. Plus, it is your agreement that I am seeking, Alexandra, your willing co-operation. Being biochemically compatible at a distance does nothing to negate that necessary requirement.”

After a moment of consideration she nodded and accepted his sincerity on the point, at least for the moment.

“And then, if we are compatible?”

He shrugged. “Then it is up to you. I will set you no deadline to make your decision, although I would request that you do not leave the island until you have made it. I would only ask that you remember that the longer you are out of circulation, the harder it will be to insert you back into your life in a way that will not arouse excessive suspicion at M16.”

She gave him an unreadable look. “And if I decide not to accept your offer?”

“I will not pretend that I will not be disappointed. But that does not mean that I will break my word to you. After all, you may change your mind in the future, and I would not wish to sour our interactions in light of that. So I will arrange for a new supply of your suppressants to be provided, and once you are back on your regime to the extent that you no longer register as a Guide, I will arrange for your return to the US mainland.”

“How would you cover my absence? If I stay here for three months and then suddenly reappear in the US Six are going to ask a considerable number of questions.”

“Yes. But I have already started to arrange a solid cover for your re-insertion. There are various bodies who owe me favours and I believe I can arrange for you to be temporarily detained by one of the. Your location would then be leaked to a suitable US state entity so that the premises would be quickly raided and you would be discovered by your rescuers. We could easily spin that so it looked as though you had been held captive for the entire period since you disappeared.”

He watched as her head tilted as she considered that option. As he had suspected, his plan met with her cautious approval, as confirmed by the slow nod she granted him. 

“But that option may, or may not be necessary. I hope that it will not be.”

She raised a wry eyebrow at his confidence that she would choose in his favour, and then suddenly uncurled from her seat and slid to her feet in one fluid motion. “Well, we'll see. But in the meantime, I think I'm going to go to bed. Turns out being kidnapped can be unexpectedly exhausting.” Her tone was so dry as to make the Sahara seem a verdant oasis, and his mouth twitched with repressed amusement in response, but he simply nodded in acceptance of her abrupt change of subject.

“Then sleep well, Alexandra. I usually have breakfast at around 9am if you would like to join me. If not, just ask one of the staff when you get up and they will bring you what ever you desire.”

“Apart from a way off the island, you mean,” she shot back.

He was unable to stop the corners of his mouth curling up at the edges at that, and he shrugged again, not really very apologetic at all.

“Apart from that, alas. But if you really wish it, that will be arranged for you the very next day.”

She raised a sceptical dark gold eyebrow at him. “Hhhm. In the meantime, _spokoynoy nochi, Yassen Gregorovich_ ,”

He raised an eyebrow at her in return, vaguely surprised. The file he had managed to compile didn't mention any fluency in Russian. But he should know by now not to underestimate her, and very little of what Alex Rider truly was could be captured in small black letters printed on white paper. 

“ _Spokoynoy nochi, Alexandra Ivanyevna._ ”

Her eyes widened slightly at his casual use of her father's name. _Alexandra, John's daughter_ , he had named her. But it was the least of the things he hoped she would become to him, and somehow from the long, considering glance she bestowed on him she seemed to realise that. But she didn't say anything more, just nodded to him and padded away into the dimly lit hallway of the villa, her white outfit and her bare footed silence letting her pass from his sight like a ghost in the twilight. 

He sat for a while longer, drinking the last of his coffee and half watching the sky outside the villa. Sunset had come and gone with that abrupt suddenness so common in the Tropics, and the night sky above the island was brilliant with stars in the way that only places very far removed from most human habitation could be. It was a stunning display, but Yassen hardly saw it, his thoughts too centred on the girl, no – the young woman that would sleep in the bedroom one floor down from his tonight. He hoped that she chose to take up his offer and stay. And even more, he hoped with an intensity that he hadn't allowed himself to feel for literally decades, that after determining whether or not they were compatible, she would chose him. It was a selfish desire, but not a wholly self-centred one, as he knew with a cold hard certainty that if she chose to go back to Six her ruse would eventually be discovered. All that needed to happen was for her to be captured and held for a period of imprisonment, or be so injured on the job that she required hospitalisation. Suppressants blocked scent and abilities, but they couldn't change the fundamental nature of blood, and the markers that indicated she was a Guide would be obvious as soon as her blood was subject to examination.

And then..... He took a final sip of his coffee and closed his eyes in rejection of the thought. Whatever he could offer her would be better than that outcome. He at least would respect her, cherish her, treat her as a partner and an equal. But Six....he grimaced to himself. Six would only see a perfect weapon, not a woman, not a person, and they would do their very worst to force her to wield herself at their direction. And if she refused...well, anyone could be broken, given time and resources, even John Rider's beautiful, golden child, and Six would have unlimited amounts of both to shape her into what they wished. And there would be very little left of _Alex_ , at the end of that process. 

So even if she did not want him he would offer her an out, a new identity, a new life, somewhere away from Six, somewhere where she might be able to truly hide what she was, and live unmolested. She might not take it, but the little he had left of his conscience, both as a Sentinel and as John Rider's apprentice, demanded it. He would not mention the option, not unless she informed him of her decision not to avail herself of his help, but he already had it ready to be actioned. And even if she chose to go back to Six he would keep that option open for her, make sure that she had a way to contact him if she had to run. Because anything else would eventually lead to her death, either in spirit, or even more likely in body if she chose to take the only way out that would completely keep her from Six's clutches. And for reasons he didn't dare examine too closely, the idea of a world without Alexandra Rider in it was not one that he liked to think about.

**Author's Note:**

> _Please review!_


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